


Conquer And Devour

by verhalen



Series: Seeds of Fire [8]
Category: Flameborn (Multiverse), Flameborn Omegaverse, TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alpha Fingolfin, Alpha Nerdanel, Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Biting, Coming of Age, Explicit Sexual Content, Finarfin/Cake OTP, First Time, Gay Sex, Hair-pulling, Idiots in Love, Incest, Lactation Kink, M/M, Male Lactation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mpreg, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Fëanor, Omega Verse, One Shot, Rimming, Scent Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:08:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25164445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verhalen/pseuds/verhalen
Summary: Fingolfin goes to visit Fëanor for his fiftieth birthday, and Fëanor puts the "coming" in "coming of age".
Relationships: Fingolfin | Ñolofinwë & Nerdanel, Fëanor | Curufinwë/Fingolfin | Ñolofinwë, Fëanor | Curufinwë/Nerdanel
Series: Seeds of Fire [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1418458
Comments: 4
Kudos: 48





	Conquer And Devour

**Author's Note:**

> "Ana" and "oma" are used in this universe for the Alpha and Omega parents, respectively, regardless of gender. Finwë uses the word Adar/Father per the Valarin custom.
> 
> Alpha Elves do not knot in this universe, sorry.

_So grow  
Libido throw  
Dominoes of indiscretions down  
Falling all around  
In cycles  
In circles  
Constantly consuming  
Conquer and devour_

_Cause it's time to bring the fire down  
Bridle all this indiscretion  
Long enough to edify  
And permanently fill this hollow_

-"The Hollow", A Perfect Circle

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
  
  
"Brother!" Fëanor ran towards Fingolfin, and before he knew what was happening, Fingolfin was in Fëanor's arms, being spun around and around.  
  
The spinning intensified that giddy rush. Fingolfin laughed, his arms tight around Fëanor, heart soaring, never wanting to let go. "Fëanáro. Ai, Fëanáro, I have missed you."  
  
Fëanor kissed both of Fingolfin's cheeks, and Fingolfin fought the urge to take Fëanor's head in his hands and kiss his mouth. Once again Fingolfin was overcome with longing for his own brother, forbidden lust, that _ache_ for the one he loved.  
  
Once again Fingolfin smelled that delicious, intoxicating smell, Fëanor's Omega scent, floral spice mixed with woodsmoke. Fingolfin felt his cock stir and he willed himself to get control, to not stride into Formenos to greet his sister-in-law with his breeches tented for her husband. But as Fëanor put an arm around him, leading inside after his horse was led out to the stables, it was all Fingolfin could not do to drag Fëanor out to the stables and rut with him like a stallion.  
  
Nerdanel was sitting in the foyer, holding Maedhros. She rose to embrace Fingolfin. "Ñolo," she said, smiling warmly. "It is good to see you."  
  
Fingolfin kissed the baby's brow, then the brow of his sister-in-law. _I wish I could say the same for you,_ he thought to himself, seething with jealousy, but he reminded himself that Nerdanel had been nothing but kind to him over the years and it was unfair to feel like she'd "stolen" Fëanor. "And you," Fingolfin said, patting her shoulder. "Thank you for your hospitality."  
  
"Thank you for coming to see us for your birthday," Nerdanel said, "instead of making us come out there and deal with your father." She made a face, freckles standing out on her wrinkled nose.  
  
There was no love lost between Nerdanel and Finwë, and that was one thing Fingolfin could not fault her for, was taking Fëanor's side in the conflict with their father. Fingolfin did not like the way their father treated Fëanor either, but it was harder for him to take an outwardly disapproving stance. He admired Nerdanel for having the fortitude to stand up to him.  
  
"Would you like something to eat or drink?" Fëanor offered.  
  
 _You._ Fingolfin did not say it aloud. He swallowed hard and nodded. "As you know, I have had a long journey. Refreshment would be welcome."  
  
"Right this way," Fëanor said, leading the way from the foyer into the greatroom. Fingolfin tried to not look at his brother's ass in the way in, and was a little relieved that Nerdanel got between them, obstructing the view.  
  
  
_  
  
  
After a meal, Fëanor wanted to get right to the making of the shield he'd promised Fingolfin for his fiftieth birthday present, dragging Fingolfin off to the forge.  
  
The three days that Fëanor had spent forging Fingolfin's sword had been intense, still burned into Fingolfin's mind. This was even moreso. Fingolfin was once again in awe of Fëanor, even a little afraid, watching him hammer the metal and shape it, watching all of the little intricate details, Fëanor glowing more brightly, seeming to burn with an inner fire as he wove spells into the silver knotwork on the edges of the blue shield, spells into the four silver diamond crystal points and the eight blue diamonds forming a wheel in the center between the four points. Hours became days, Fëanor more and more fevered, frantic.  
  
And as his focus on the craft got stronger, so did his scent, until it was overpowering. It was not an unpleasant smell, but it made Fingolfin light-headed, and was driving him mad, every cell in his body screaming to take Fëanor right there on the anvil.  
  
Servants came with food and drink. As the work wore on and Fëanor was perfecting and perfecting his design, he got angrier with the servants who came. At first he merely grumbled when they put their food down and left, but finally Fëanor's temper snapped. "I am in _the middle of something!_ " he roared at a servant after he set down a tray. "Can't you see there is _art_ happening here? How dare you interrupt me!"  
  
"Fëanor," Fingolfin said, feeling bad for the poor servant who was just doing his job, "I am hungry."  
  
And then Fëanor looked sheepish. "Forgive me," he said to the servant, and then repeated, "Forgive me," to Fingolfin. "I should have realized you have needs," Fëanor said to his brother softly.  
  
 _If only you knew, beloved._ Fingolfin once again swallowed hard, and as he made his way to the tray to pour himself some water and wine and take of the food that had been left, which meant necessarily coming closer to Fëanor, he couldn't help but notice Fëanor didn't just smell stronger than usual, but the scent was changing. Usually the floral predominated with just a touch of spice and smoke, but now the spice and smoke was stronger. And the next time the servants brought food and drink, the smoke was stronger still.  
  
Though Fingolfin was loath to sleep, not wanting to miss a moment of the beauty and wonder that was watching Fëanor craft the shield, sleep nonetheless claimed him... and then Fëanor woke him.  
  
"It is finished," Fëanor said. "It is finally done."  
  
Fingolfin held out his arms and the shield floated towards him. His mouth dropped as he took a look at the fine craftsmanship, all the textured detail of the body of the shield itself, the setting of the stones, the knotwork on the border. He turned the shield around and marveled at the inside, which had a subtle yet intricate pattern, and as he ran his finger over it he felt the shield vibrating underneath his fingertip. The metal seemed to sing.  
  
"Now," Fëanor said, "you must test the shield."  
  
Fingolfin looked outside and saw that it was night. "Right now?"  
  
"Right now."  
  
Fëanor brought less staff to Formenos, his place to get away, but nonetheless he had a few guards for safety's sake. Fëanor approached one of them. "Nahtaro," Fëanor commanded, "pull your sword on the Prince."  
  
The guard grimaced and squirmed. "My lord, are you sure?"  
  
"I would not have asked if I was not sure. There will be no penalty for you doing as I command."  
  
The guard nodded, and drew his sword. Before it could connect, Fingolfin thrust out his shield. The shield not only encased him in a bubble of faint blue light, but Fingolfin watched as the guard was thrown several meters backwards onto the ground, falling hard.  
  
"Very good." Fëanor chuckled. "Sorry about that, Nahtaro."  
  
Fingolfin let out a low whistle. "As you know, I have never seen a shield of its like. Such powerful magic."  
  
"Well," Fëanor said, "to a point. Since I enchanted it, I can..." Fëanor waved his hand and the bubble of light went away. "Disrupt it. As could someone more powerful than myself, but hopefully we won't run afoul of anyone like that."  
  
Fingolfin felt a shiver down his spine. He resisted the urge to grab Fëanor and hug him tight and never let go. He didn't even want to think about the sort of dangers he'd heard rumors of, why his family lived in Valinor now instead of Cuiviénen.  
  
Fëanor cleared his throat, breaking into Fingolfin's thoughts. "Still, even without the enchantment upon it..." Fëanor's hand rested on the sword in his belt. "Ready yourself."  
  
Fingolfin took a defensive stance with his shield. Fëanor's sword struck, and Fingolfin moved his shield to block it. The shield made a loud _clang_ as if it were a bell, and Fingolfin watched with fascinated horror as the blade of Fëanor's sword snapped in two - and Fingolfin knew that Fëanor's sword was not cheap craftsmanship by any means, he'd made it himself.  
  
Fëanor's laughter rang out almost as loudly as the shield had, delighted. Fëanor waved his hand and the shield sang again, Fingolfin once again encased in a bubble of soft blue. "Excellent. Works just as I intended." Fëanor waved his hand and a broken piece of the sword floated off the ground into his free hand. "Now I have an excuse to forge myself a new sword. I shall do that at once -"  
  
"Curufinwë Fëanáro _Finwion_ ," Nerdanel's voice scolded - and they saw her at the gate, hands on hips. "You can do that another time. Right now you are going to get some _sleep_. You haven't slept in _days._ "  
  
"I'm fine," Fëanor called back, but Fingolfin could tell he wasn't fine - there were dark circles under his eyes, and his eyes were fevered, wild.  
  
"You are not fine. You need rest." With that, Nerdanel came out to where they were standing and started dragging Fëanor towards Formenos by his hair. Fingolfin couldn't help laughing - while his mind went right to thinking about pulling Fëanor's hair in the heat of passion - and Fëanor gave Fingolfin a wicked grin that let his brother know that he didn't mind Nerdanel roughly handling him like this at all; it was exactly what he wanted. For a moment Fingolfin went from envying Nerdanel to almost sympathizing with her - he imagined Fëanor was a lot to deal with. But then, as he saw Nerdanel grab Fëanor and kiss him hard as soon as they crossed the threshhold, and Fingolfin once again smelled a waft of that delicious scent, Fingolfin's thoughts returned to envy.  
  
"To bed with you," Nerdanel said.  
  
"To sleep?" Fëanor gave her an innocent face that wasn't innocent at all.  
  
"Yes, _to sleep_ , and then if you're _good_ and you get some rest like a good boy, we'll see about other things."  
  
"Yes, milady." And then Fëanor winked at Fingolfin, but it was more of a clumsy blink.  
  
Fingolfin wondered what Fëanor meant by that. He didn't want to get his hopes up, that Fëanor wanted him the same way.  
  
But he wanted so badly. He had tried to fight it, and not even his shield could save him from these feelings.  
  
  
_  
  
  
Fingolfin, too, got some much-needed rest that night, but then he woke up with a start, heart pounding in his ears, the smell of spicy, musky woodsmoke as intense as if Fëanor were right there in his bed. And of course he was not. His guest chamber was at the opposite end of the hall from Fëanor's bedchamber. That was how strong the scent had become. It also felt like the temperature in his room had gone up considerably, and there was no fire going in the hearth.  
  
Fingolfin was sweating, and his cock was painfully tented in his sleep-breeches. He went to the washroom of his chambers and threw water on his face, looked at himself in the mirror and saw his pupils blown wide, a look of desperate hunger in his eyes that scared him. He needed to get some air, needed to get away from that impossibly luscious smell before he exploded.  
  
He found himself walking into the woods, not thinking, just moving. After a few minutes he became aware of the fact that he was followed and he paused in his tracks and whirled around, hand on his sword... but it was just Nerdanel with Maedhros, several meters behind.  
  
Fingolfin breathed a small sigh of relief; he had never been so happy to see his sister-in-law. "Good morning, Nerdanel. Care to join me on my walk?"  
  
"I would like that, yes. I thought about calling out to you but I didn't know if you didn't want to be disturbed or not."  
  
 _I am already quite disturbed._ Fingolfin didn't say it aloud, and tried to keep all smiles as Nerdanel strode towards him and then they kept the pace together along the trail. Fingolfin looked up at the sky, admiring the golden light of day and the way it lit up the trees. Once again, he was impressed with Fëanor for coming out here, making this his retreat. Fingolfin knew he couldn't live here year-round, he had too many obligations to the House of Finwë much as Fëanor begrudged them, but Fingolfin was glad Fëanor got to come here at least some of the year, knowing what a bad fit the culture of court was for him... the culture of Valinor in general, it seemed.  
  
A few minutes into their walk, Nerdanel stopped to drink from a flask. Fingolfin waited, and when Nerdanel passed him the flask he didn't refuse. It was just water, cool and crisp. Even the water tasted better up here, fresher, purer. "Thank you, sister."  
  
"Fingolfin, I need to have a word with you," Nerdanel said.  
  
Fingolfin braced himself, wondering about what, hoping it wasn't a lecture about letting Fëanor spend so much time in the forge.  
  
What came out of Nerdanel's mouth was far worse. "As you know, you desire my husband," Nerdanel said.  
  
Fingolfin had chosen that moment to take a second sip from the flask, and he sputtered. "Er."  
  
"Yes, er." Nerdanel cocked her head to one side, and pursed her lips. "It's no use pretending otherwise. I see the way you look at him." Her eyes narrowed. "I _smell_ you."  
  
Fingolfin realized he should have known he would give off his own scent as an Alpha but he was so used to his own scent that it didn't occur to him. Now his face was on fire and he was tempted to run off into the woods, but instead he just nodded. He wasn't going to insult Nerdanel by lying to her. "It's true, lady. I'm sorry -"  
  
"Don't be."  
  
Fingolfin's jaw dropped.  
  
Nerdanel took a deep breath. She led him over to a large, flat-top stone where there was room for both of them to sit. She put Maedhros down to let him play in the grass; Fingolfin was glad the boy was still too young to understand any of this conversation.  
  
"How can you say that, lady? It is sin." Fingolfin frowned. "I am trying to behave... I would not want to dishonor you by..."  
  
"Ñolo. Finwë has never talked to you about... before, has he? Meaning Cuiviénen, before he came to Valinor."  
  
"Er, no."  
  
Nerdanel nodded. "My ana and oma have told me things about that time. In those days, your mother and Fëanor's mother were lovers."  
  
Fingolfin's jaw dropped again. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. And yet, it made _sense_ \- why Miriel was such a sore spot for Indis. Fingolfin had always assumed she cried because she was so jealous of Finwë's first wife. But now he knew it was sorrow for a lost love, one who had died so tragically. Fingolfin's eyes teared up at the realization.  
  
"And your own father, Finwë, was lovers with his own brother. Palcë, his name was."  
  
"Our father has a brother?" Fingolfin was consumed by a surge of violent emotion - grief for never having known his uncle, and rage for his father never having spoken of him, so he didn't even know he had an uncle. "Where..."  
  
"We don't know," Nerdanel said softly. "Our families came here to escape grave danger, Ñolo. Your uncle fought... the evil." Nerdanel would not even speak of it.  
  
That meant the uncle was probably dead, though Fingolfin wondered if that was truly so, and if he was out there... if he was suffering. Fingolfin wanted to weep, not able to bear the thought of his family in captivity or worse. Nerdanel put a hand on his arm, gentle but firm. "There are rumors that your father has been intimate with Ingwë, the father of your intended. I do not know if these rumors are merely talk or if there is substance to them. But I do know that in his past, Finwë had male lovers. My oma was almost one of them."  
  
"Why are you telling me this?" Fingolfin's head was spinning all over again.  
  
"Because I want you to know that the Laws of the Valar are unnatural for our people. We did not always pair off one man, one woman. It was common for our people to take many lovers of different genders, so long as all parties were consenting." Nerdanel sighed and looked around to make sure they were truly alone. "Ñolo, I love your brother, but he is a lot. And he is even more of a lot when he is in heat."  
  
Fingolfin swallowed hard. His mouth was suddenly dry. Seeming to sense it, Nerdanel gave him the flask again.  
  
"You mention heat," Fingolfin said. Of course he'd known Fëanor had gone into heat before, it was how he ended up with Maedhros. But...  
  
"Just before Fëanor goes into heat, he gets very irritable, moreso than usual, and very creative... moreso than usual. I'm sure you've noticed his obsessiveness with his latest project... and the scent. He started his heat this morning."  
  
"Why aren't you there with him now?" Fingolfin felt almost angry.  
  
"Because that is my birthday present to you." Nerdanel gave him a small smile. "He has had a bath, I made sure of that, and I have built him a heat nest, as I do... he is waiting in the chambers, thinking I will return. It will be you who takes my place there."  
  
"But... but... does he even want me?"  
  
Nerdanel threw back her head and laughed. "Do you think I'd be offering if he didn't?"  
  
"And..." Fingolfin still couldn't believe any of this was happening. He had a mind to tear off and rush to Formenos, right into that heat nest and make Fëanor scream. But he still needed to understand what he was getting into. "You're all right with all of this? Truly?"  
  
"It's like I said. Fëanor is a lot. Truth be told, I've been hoping he would take other lovers, like his father once did, to give me a break. He's insatiable and it's exhausting to keep up with."  
  
Fingolfin did not think such a thing was even possible, getting tired of Fëanor. To Fingolfin it seemed a privilege beyond privilege, to worship Fëanor's body and pleasure him for hours and hours, days and days. Many years later, Fingolfin would look back on this moment as a clear sign that Nerdanel and Fëanor were doomed. But here and now, Fingolfin thought it was incredibly generous of her to step aside for him, exhaustion or not. "I will do my best to satisfy him, lady."  
  
"Good." Nerdanel chuckled. "And just so you know, I won't tell anyone. Especially not your father. I will make sure the servants are distracted sufficiently and the nest has already been enchanted to keep others from hearing."  
  
Fingolfin was almost disappointed by that - part of him wanted all of Valinor to hear him make Fëanor cry out - but he also knew it was better to be prudent. Fingolfin gave a polite little bow as he got up. "Thank you, lady."  
  
And then he ran, as fast as he could.  
  
  
_  
  
  
As eager as Fingolfin was to claim Fëanor, he was filled with anxiety again once he entered Formenos. Instead of going right to Fëanor's bedchamber, he went to the washroom in his own guest chambers, cleaning himself thoroughly, as if he were preparing himself for a ritual. He realized then that this was sacred to him - knowing the ancient ways of their people, the proscription of the Valar would never feel the same way again, and indeed their father was a hypocrite. Fingolfin took deep breaths, trying to calm his nerves, but as he put a silk robe over his naked body he felt ready to burst at the seams. And his cock was tented again, the scent of Fëanor's heat thick through the fortress.  
  
Fingolfin quietly entered Fëanor's bedchamber and heard movement from the bed. He watched as Fëanor got in position, hands and knees, face down ass up - his passage was dripping slick, pooling onto the sheets.  
  
"Nel, hurry, please," Fëanor said, and let out a plaintive whimper.  
  
Fingolfin cleared his throat.  
  
Fëanor gasped and looked over his shoulder. "Oh, _Eru._ Ñolo..." Fëanor quickly rolled out of position and pulled up a sheet around himself, covering his nakedness. "I'm sorry -"  
  
"I'm not," Fingolfin husked.  
  
Fëanor's eyes widened. He swallowed hard, and his mouth opened slightly. "You..."  
  
Fingolfin nodded. "I'm in love with you, Fëanáro."  
  
Fëanor looked at him with disbelief. His breath hitched. Then he gave his brother a wicked, teasing grin and said, "Hi In Love With You -"  
  
"I'm being serious, Fëanor, damn you."  
  
"Hi Being Serious Fëanor Damn You."  
  
Fingolfin put his hands on his hips and then Fëanor laughed... and let the sheet drop. Fingolfin's breath caught at the sight of Fëanor's perfect naked body, as exquisitely sculpted as a statue - but even more beautiful than anything the most gifted pair of hands could shape. His cock was as beautiful as the rest of him, standing at attention, long and thick, also dripping.  
  
"It's always been you, Fëanáro." Fingolfin approached the bed slowly, and when he was almost there he let his own robe slip to the floor.  
  
"Forgive me... I didn't want to say anything before now," Fëanor said softly. "I'm older, I didn't want to... abuse that power, influence you or make you feel... pressured or obligated..."  
  
"This is not obligation," Fingolfin said, gesturing to his own hard cock. "I want you. Really and truly."  
  
Fëanor held out his arms. Fingolfin climbed onto the bed. He had never even kissed anyone before, and yet, when his mouth met Fëanor's for the first time, he seemed to intuitively know what to do - it felt as natural as the changing light of the Trees, the changing tides of the sea, the sowing and the reaping. When their tongues played together they both groaned, and Fingolfin found himself running his hands over Fëanor's beautiful body, needing to touch him, needing to feel him, everywhere. Fëanor trembled beneath his hands, and made a high-pitched, urgent noise into the kiss, which deepened, more insistent... more hungry.  
  
"Get as you were before," Fingolfin commanded.  
  
For a brief instant Fingolfin worried that he was being too bossy, that Fëanor would tell his younger brother to mind his place... but Fëanor's eyes lit up as if he liked to be told what to do, by Fingolfin anyway, and Fingolfin watched eagerly, cock throbbing as Fëanor once again got on his hands and knees, the perfect globes of his ass pushed out, and he was dripping even more slick than before.  
  
Fëanor smelled delicious, and now Fingolfin had to taste him. Fingolfin leaned in and began to lick around Fëanor's passage, around and around in circles. Fëanor cried out, "Ai, Ñolo!" and gripped the pillows, fists white-knuckled.  
  
Fingolfin laughed softly, delighted, and then he dipped his tongue inside.  
  
Fëanor's slick was sweet, like a diluted honey, with a touch of the floral spice of his scent. Fingolfin groaned, his cock stiffening even more at that first taste. He began to rub his tongue inside Fëanor's channel slowly, kissing it, and wasn't able to keep from stroking himself as he licked, going mad with lust at the taste, the thought that he was inside Fëanor this way, pleasing him, listening to Fëanor's whimpers and cries. Soon Fingolfin's tongue worked faster, and faster still, lashing away at a nub inside him, Fëanor panting and howling, at last bucking against him, fucking himself on his brother's tongue.  
  
"Please, Ñolo, please, take me, please, I need your cock..." Fëanor begged.  
  
Fingolfin decided to tease him just a little more, making Fëanor beg for it, even as his cock was raging, so hard it was almost painful, balls tighter than they'd ever been. Fingolfin's tongue slowed down, and Fëanor made guttural noises into the pillows, then higher-pitched ones, almost sobbing. "Please. Ñolo. Please. Ñolo. Ñolo, please, brother, please, I need it, please, _fuck me!_ "  
  
Fingolfin relented. He felt like he was going to die if he didn't take Fëanor now, _now._ He rose up, kneeling behind his brother, cock poised outside Fëanor's dripping passage. "Are you very sure, brother?"  
  
"YES, WOULD YOU JUST FUCKING _FUCK ME._ "  
  
Fingolfin couldn't help laughing at that, and then his laughter became a groan as he guided in the tip. He went slowly, inch by inch, letting Fëanor get adjusted to the size of him, and at last he was buried to the hilt. Fingolfin paused, not just for Fëanor's own sake but for his, hearing himself breathing harder at the magnificent feeling of Fëanor's silken heat clamped around him...  
  
...the indescribable feeling of being joined with his brother, his beloved, body, mind, and soul.  
  
 _I love you,_ Fingolfin spoke directly into his mind. _Now and always._  
  
 _Always._ Fëanor looked back over his shoulder. _I am yours, Ñolofinwë. Now take it._ Claim _it._  
  
Fingolfin took a deep breath, and then he took his first thrust. The wet, tight velvet rubbing around his cock was almost too exquisite to bear. Fingolfin fought his own release, not wanting to come too soon. He thrust again, and again, slowly. Fëanor whimpered and gasped out, "That's so good, brother..."  
  
"Ai, Fëanáro. This is better than I had hoped for." Fingolfin sighed. "This feels so right."  
  
"More," Fëanor begged.  
  
Something about that word turned Fingolfin into an animal. He began to thrust again, harder, faster, finding a rhythm. Fëanor matched his rhythm, rocking his hips back at Fingolfin, until their hips were slapping together, balls slapping together. The lewd, obscene wet suctioning sound of Fingolfin's cock gliding in and out of Fëanor's slick passage was as exciting as watching his cock go in and out of the slick, dripping hole, watching his cock coated with Fëanor's sex. Fingolfin gripped Fëanor's hips and drove into him even harder, and Fëanor shouted, "Yes, Ñolo. More, brother, more! More..."  
  
Fingolfin groaned deeply. He thrust faster, giving into the beast inside him, giving into the _fire_. Their bodies slapping together, the wet slurping sound of their fuck was almost as loud as Fëanor's cries of "More, more, _more_ , ai, Ñolo, don't stop, give me more..." And as the pleasure and tension built within Fingolfin, and he could feel the pleasure building in Fëanor too across their bond as his cock hit that place inside him again and again, Fingolfin felt a freedom he'd never known before, like he wasn't just claiming his beloved, but he was reclaiming something that had been stolen from him, something that was his _birthright_.  
  
He thought of Fëanor forging the sword, the shield - like a force of nature, like a god, and Fëanor in his element was almost as arousing as Fëanor on his hands and knees in front of him, getting fucked by his cock. He remembered the power he'd felt... and he could feel that same power now, but it was even stronger, his fire calling to Fëanor's fire.  
  
The thought came, blasphemy. _Ye shall be as gods._  
  
It was dangerous... even more forbidden than what they were doing with their bodies. And it was wonderful. He drank that power now, fucking Fëanor harder and harder, Fëanor bucking against him so Fingolfin didn't know who was fucking who. Fingolfin could hear himself crying out now too, getting closer and closer to that point of no return...  
  
Fëanor was shaking, panting. Fingolfin leaned down, his chest against Fëanor's back. His arms wrapped around his brother, his beloved, and he brushed Fëanor's hair aside and began to kiss and lick and nibble his neck, his shoulder, back up his neck to lick along his jaw, up the shell of his ear to the sensitive point. He licked back down Fëanor's neck and then his teeth were on the back of Fëanor's neck, growling. Fëanor had been panting "more, more" and now he couldn't even make words, almost sobbing.  
  
"Yes, brother." Fingolfin could feel Fëanor there too, and he wanted Fëanor to have his pleasure first. "Burn for me, Fëanáro."  
  
Fingolfin reached down, took Fëanor's cock in his hand, and with a few strokes it spurted. Fëanor gave a wild, broken cry, and Fingolfin groaned deeply at the feel of hot seed flooding his hand... then Fëanor's channel clamped down tighter around him, pulsing, and Fingolfin gave into his own release, shooting and shooting inside him. "Fëanor. My love."  
  
"Ñolo," Fëanor wept. "I love you. I love you..."  
  
Fëanor tilted his head and they kissed, passionately, fiercely. Their tongues duelling together made Fingolfin's cock rise again, and Fëanor whimpered into the kiss and started rocking on his brother's cock once more.  
  
But this time Fingolfin went more slowly for longer, one arm around Fëanor, hands clasped, Fëanor's head tilted towards his as they kissed and kissed, tongues licking and rubbing together, teasing, playing to the slow, sensual rhythm of Fingolfin's thrusts.  
  
They couldn't keep it slow forever. The need between them burned, and Fingolfin pounded Fëanor into the mattress. It was a reverse of the previous fuck - where in the first one Fingolfin had started off upright on his knees behind Fëanor and at the end leaned down to kiss him, now Fingolfin went from kissing Fëanor to rising back up, gripping Fëanor's hip with one hand and grabbing his hair with another, pulling it hard as he'd fantasized about. Fëanor loved it, getting louder, rocking against Fingolfin as hard as he could. "More, more, more..."  
  
"That's it, brother." Fingolfin tugged Fëanor's flood of hair again. "Who does this belong to?" He slapped Fëanor's ass.  
  
"You. It's yours. I'm yours..."  
  
Fingolfin groaned, loving it. "Mine. _Mine._ "  
  
"Yes. _Yes..._ "  
  
It didn't take them long to come again. Fëanor screamed as he climaxed, and an instant later Fingolfin threw back his head and gave a hoarse shout as he spilled into his brother a second time, Fëanor's passage throbbing around him, his own cock throbbing into his entire body, seemingly endless pulses of joy. He sank down and sighed with contentment, feeling like he was made of pure light.  
  
Soon enough, he had somehow slipped out of Fëanor and now Fëanor was facing him and raining kisses over his face, Fëanor's fingers walking over his body, making him tingle, making him burn. Fingolfin's cock rose again, and now Fëanor's cock was rubbing against his, and Fingolfin shuddered, kissing Fëanor's mouth as hard as he could. "I can't get enough of you," Fingolfin whispered.  
  
"Good," Fëanor said, smiling, and kissed Fingolfin back.  
  
Fingolfin's cock was aching to be inside Fëanor again, but looking at Fëanor's body, he felt overcome with the need to adore him. He rolled Fëanor onto his back and began to kiss and lick him all over, from his neck down his throat to one shoulder over an arm and back up, burying his nose in Fëanor's armpit and licking that, too, enjoying the spicy, smoky smell of Fëanor's heat. He kissed back over the shoulder to Fëanor's chest, and seized a nipple between his lips, sucking hard. Fëanor cried out and Fingolfin groaned at the sight of Fëanor's cock jolting at that, slick gushing out of him. Fingolfin continued to suckle, savoring the sweet spice of Fëanor's milk, and then his tongue rubbed the nipple fast and hard, fucking it with his tongue, before suckling again. His tongue swirled around and around the nipple fast, then slow and teasing, and then his tongue brushed the nipple with light, slow strokes. Fingolfin moaned at the sight of milk beading down Fëanor's chest and chased the drops with his tongue, before lashing the nipple some more, suckling and drinking his milk. Fingolfin rubbed his hard cock against Fëanor's thigh, indescribably turned on to finally be fulfilling this fantasy of suckling his brother's nipples. Fingolfin loved the sight of Fëanor's nipples hard, swollen, and glistening, like perfect little rosebuds. And he found himself saying, "Such beauty deserves adornment. Like jeweled rings."  
  
Fëanor laughed softly. "All the better for you to play with."  
  
"Indeed."  
  
Fingolfin turned his head to the other nipple and gave it the same treatment, sucking hard, licking hard and fast, then swirling his tongue around and around the nipple fast then slowly, tongue fluttering before suckling again. His fingers and thumb pinched and plucked and rolled one nipple while his mouth feasted on the other, making the nipples swell even more, making Fëanor cry out louder and louder until he was writhing, screaming, whimpering, a complete wreck. Fingolfin kissed back up the other shoulder and over Fëanor's arm, scenting his other armpit, and then down Fëanor's side, across the stomach to the other side, and back.  
  
Fingolfin was pleased that Fëanor had a sensitive stomach, too, licking, kissing, nibbling over the angles and planes. He kissed over to one hip and down a thigh, stroking himself as Fëanor started to pant and writhe and cry out again while Fingolfin kissed and licked and nibbled the thigh. He went to the other and did the same, and spent awhile just licking his brother's dripping cock, licking it and licking it, lashing at the slit, swirling around the head, up and down the shaft and back up to suck on the head, kissing it, before burying his noise in the lovely dark bush and breathing in the scent of him, craving it like a drug. Then he kissed and licked back up the hip, back over the stomach, up and up and up to Fëanor's heart.  
  
"You are beautiful here most of all," Fingolfin husked, kissing there. "You burn so brightly."  
  
Fëanor stroked Fingolfin's face, silver eyes aflame, looking at him with such love - such _worship_ \- that Fingolfin wanted to weep. It was so good, to love and be loved like this. He felt consumed by the fire of Fëanor's passion - and his own passion for Fëanor - and rather than destroying him it was making him stronger. That strength, that power, coursed through him now as he took Fëanor's face in his hands and drew him into a deep, fierce, savage kiss.  
  
They kissed and kissed, and Fëanor arched to him, legs spread and lifted. Fingolfin pushed inside him and they were joined once more.  
  
"Ñolo," Fëanor breathed, wonder in his eyes, as if he'd discovered some sort of magic. He reached up to stroke Fingolfin's face again, and smiled with joy that threatened to break Fingolfin's heart. "I love you."  
  
Fingolfin kissed him deeply and began to thrust. Slow and sweet at first, but soon enough yielding to that hunger, like he had been starving for this... a sort of madness, obsession.  
  
It was a magnificent obsession. In these moments, Fëanor wrapped around him, his sweet cries, the rhythm of their flesh slapping together, was all that existed. Their pleasure. Their passion. Their joy. The eventual ecstasy of their release, exploding like stars.  
  
"Mine," Fingolfin called out as he came. "Always mine." And then a wordless cry, as Fëanor sprayed his chest with another arc of hot seed.  
  
"My own," Fëanor said.  
  
That release was powerful enough that Fingolfin found himself drifting off, a smile on his face. He woke up feeling that fever again, smelling Fëanor's powerful scent, his body _hungering_ once more, wanting, cock standing to attention, painfully stiff.  
  
"Yes," Fëanor whispered between kisses.  
  
"Yes," Fingolfin said back.  
  
Fëanor pushed Fingolfin onto his back, straddled his hips, and sank down. Fingolfin groaned at the sight of his cock pushing into Fëanor's passage once more, and cried out as he watched Fëanor bounce on it, the cock gliding in and out of him, so slick.  
  
"More," Fëanor cried out. "More, more, I need it, don't stop..."  
  
"As much as you want," Fingolfin said, fingers sliding over Fëanor's sweat-damp chest and stomach. "You can have all you want. Take all you need."  
  
"Yes, yes, yes, _more_..."  
  
  
_  
  
  
Hours passed, days passed. Food was discretely left outside the chamber at regular intervals. Fëanor took occasional breaks to feed Maedhros and fuss over him. Watching Fëanor nurse made Fingolfin even hungrier for those nipples when Fëanor disrobed and got back to bed.  
  
At last the heat was over, and Fingolfin was exhausted, but he'd never felt better in his life. Sometime during the heat his fiftieth birthday had come and gone. He was sure Nerdanel had made some sort of excuse for why he wasn't attending a party. Nonetheless, Fingolfin worried that his absence would be remarked upon, even by the staff Nerdanel and Fëanor had sworn were trustworthy, even with an enchantment on the bedchamber to mask the sounds coming out of it.  
  
Fëanor and Fingolfin finally came out to have breakfast with Nerdanel, and Nerdanel asked loudly in front of the servants, "How was your spiritual retreat in the forest, Ñolo?"  
  
Fingolfin knew then that had been the cover story. He nodded as he took a piece of fresh bread. "It was very insightful. I truly felt the power of Oromë out there, in the call of the wild."  
  
 _You felt the power of a horn, all right._ Fëanor smirked just a little as he sipped the herbed tonic that went with their breakfast. "I admire your devotion, brother." _And your stamina._  
  
"As you know, when one becomes a man it is good to seek the rede of the Valar. Our father taught us faith is very... important." _Bloody hypocrite._  
  
"Indeed," Fëanor said. "There is much in our esteemed father's example that we can follow." He said it with the straightest of faces, and it took Fingolfin everything he had not to fall apart laughing.  
  
  
_  
  
  
Fingolfin was reluctant to leave Formenos, especially because soon, within weeks, he would be wed to Anairë. Fëanor and Nerdanel were scheduled to depart Formenos before the wedding, where they would attend, and Fëanor would be living at his usual residence, not so far of a journey...  
  
...close enough to be a constant temptation. Fingolfin knew they would have to be very careful, with their father nearby, and so much of the court. And yet, he could not be without this now.  
  
Before Fingolfin left, Fëanor pulled him into the woods for a last kiss.  
  
"Soon," Fëanor promised. "We will see each other again and then you can ravish me some more."  
  
"I wish I could run away with you," Fingolfin said. "No court. No farce of an arranged marriage. Just us, just this." Fingolfin kissed him back with all his might.  
  
"We cannot run away," Fëanor said, looking sad. "But we will find a way, somehow. In the shadows... we will find our light, together."  
  
"Together," Fingolfin husked, and kissed him again.  
  
  
_  
  
  
Fingolfin's wedding day was the saddest moment of his life so far. Even with knowing that Anairë didn't want this either, and they would not be consummating their marriage tonight, if at all, he still felt sick to his stomach. Sick with the distaste of the dishonesty of the whole thing. Sick with the anger at his father's hypocrisy, forcing him into this, talking a good game about piety and devotion, while skulking around with Ingwë, and hiding the truth of his brother, Fingolfin's uncle. Sick with the anxiety that at some point, he and Fëanor would be discovered, and punished.  
  
Fingolfin had tears in his eyes as he made the vows. He heard one of Anairë's handmaidens say, "Bless him, such love for his wife!" And it took Fingolfin all his strength not to storm over there and shout _I DO NOT LOVE THIS WOMAN, MY TEARS ARE OF SORROW._ He did not. He could not. He felt as if he were in a trance, his mind going far away to escape the horror of the ceremony.  
  
He came back to himself a little at the reception. Indis had made another lovely cake, and of course Finarfin was proceeding to get himself covered in icing all over again. Finarfin grabbed Fingolfin's sleeve and dragged him over to the layered cake. "Have cake," Finarfin said. "You're too sad. Cake will help."  
  
Fingolfin wondered what Finarfin _knew_. Fingolfin felt too ill with all the negativity coursing through him, but he nibbled on cake to appease his younger brother.  
  
And at last there was Fëanor, looking regal in a new red tunic, red roses trimmed on black breeches, a matching cape of black with red roses. He had a rose for Fingolfin, which was not in and of itself unseemly, gifting his brother on his wedding day, but Fingolfin knew as he took the rose that it was a romantic gesture.  
  
"I am very happy for you," Fëanor said, looking around the room, knowing they were being watched. "This is truly a momentous day."  
  
"Truly," Fingolfin said. "I feel as if I shall burst."  
  
"Indeed." Fëanor nodded, and then he lowered his voice and whispered, "I am with child again."  
  
Fingolfin blinked. And he realized, Fëanor had not lain with Nerdanel during his last heat.  
  
The child Fëanor was carrying was his.  
  
Fëanor smiled at him and patted his back. "Congratulations, Ñolo."  
  
Fingolfin let out a shout of joy. Anyone else observing would think it was his marriage... but of course it was not.  
  
He might be living in a gilded cage, but at least he had this, and that gave him strength.


End file.
